


To belong

by FeuillesMortes



Series: The Days We Passed By [2]
Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: 15th Century, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 23:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11977761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeuillesMortes/pseuds/FeuillesMortes
Summary: This is yet another fill-in fic I wrote for The White Princess verse. It's set between episodes 5 and 6 when Henry is still coping with his uncle Jasper's death.





	To belong

She had not seen him all day. The privy council was dismissed, the king had announced he would privately tend to his missives in his study. There was a foul rumour running around the palace that Lady Margaret Beaufort had declined seeing her son when he had sent for her, refusing to leave the chapel from where she held her vigil for Jasper Tudor’s soul. Elizabeth saw the way the few courtiers lingering about looked at her, as if asking for answers for mother and son’s erratic behaviour. Try as she might, she could not attest for her husband that day. All she had was a long silence.

When the news of Jasper’s death reached them, Henry broke down in a way that Elizabeth had never seen him before. Vulnerable and bare, he had tried to hold onto Jasper’s life like a drowning man reaching for air. It had shocked Elizabeth in more ways that she could confess to herself. As much as she had tried to console him, she had the inkling feeling that he was trying to shun her. Rather, she had evidence of it. Earlier in the day when she had gone to his rooms she had been prevented from entering, the page boy announcing that the king had given expressive orders to not be disturbed by anyone. She had reluctantly accepted and retreated, but whilst preparing for bed that night she realised she could not take his silence anymore.

She threw a robe around her shift and took a candle to his rooms. Just outside his doors she found that same page boy asleep, crouched on the floor. She paused to knock, but did not wait for an answer. Upon entering she saw Henry bent on the small desk that graced his bedchamber, hair ruffled, his hands busy in writing. 

“I said to not be disturbed.”

He half-turned to find her standing by his door. She tried not to look too worried by him, even though Lizzie was not sure he could really see her that moment. His eyes were vague, deep dark circles marking his numb features. She doubted he had slept the night before. Henry dropped his gaze to his lap, murmuring a simple “It’s you” by way of apology. She drew closer to him by slow steps and placed her candle on a nearby table.

“I was worried.” She admitted. “You did not come to see the boys sparring today.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, yet hesitated for a second. “I’m afraid I had much work to catch up to.”

“They missed your input dearly.” 

The truth was that the princes were too unfocused that day to do their chores right. They had been the only ones that openly asked Elizabeth about the death of dear uncle Jasper. They would eventually understand what it meant to lose a loved one. Her own childhood had been marked by the loss of numerous relatives, her first real memory on the subject being the passing of her aunt Anne, her father’s favourite sister. 

Henry sighed, and a slight trace of guilt crossed his features. “I did not want them to see me.” He looked away. “Like this.”

“Henry.” She started, very softly. “Henry, I’m sorry.”

He refused to meet her eyes, but she persisted. “I… When I… When my father died, I also felt lost. It felt like I hadn’t cherished him enou-”

“I’ve never met my father.” He uttered, bluntly. “I have no memory of him.”

“You had Jasper, though.”

“Had.” His eyes mets hers at last, an unwavering challenge dancing behind them. 

She knew then that no matter what she said she would not bring comfort to his wound - not when he seemed resolute in being unreasonably whimsical. She took the blow graciously enough. She approached his bed and started to disrobe.

He frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to bed.” She stated, matter-of-factly.

He scoffed, turning back to his desk. “I’ve still much to do.”

That didn’t stop her from getting under the covers. “I’ll wait.”

Henry took his quill again. “You shouldn’t.”

From her place on the bed she observed his tense shoulders while Henry resumed his writing. She did not know how long she simply stayed there, watching him trying to ignore her. Then he stopped to rub his eyes, muttering something softly to himself.

She took the opportunity. “It is said that working by candlelight is the best way to lose one’s eyesight.” He froze, as if her voice had surprised him. 

A pause. “Perhaps that’s true.” 

He blew his candles, getting up from his chair. Henry still had this somewhat uncomfortable expression to him, as if undecided whether or not to be cross with her. Lizzie simply patted the mattress. He answered by way of undressing, even though he didn’t look entirely pleased with himself.

Henry lifted the covers and let himself fall to the bed with a grunt. He instinctively curled up to her, though, burying his nose in her hair. Old habits die hard, she reckoned. She began stroking his arm very gently.

“It’s been a while since I spent the night here, hasn’t it?” In fact, since she was given the queen’s rooms they had only ever slept together there.

Her husband squeezed her gently. “It has indeed.”

“I miss those simple times.”

He sighed, a light breeze fanning her ear. “Has it ever been simple between us, Lizzie?”

She could not answer it, yet she knew he did not really need her to. They spent some moments in silence till he let got of her frame to recline back on the sheets. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, facing the canopy of the bed.

“Whatever for?” Love, she almost added the endearment.

“For being… difficult.”

“It’s called mourning, Henry.”

Lizzie turned to gather him in her arms. She spent long moments running her fingers lightly through his cheek, his nose, his stubble, while he had his eyes closed. He eventually turned to his side, drawing her arm around him, his breathing steadying into a rhythm. Although they were close together, she still felt left out. She resented the fact that there was a part of him that shut her out. Perhaps it was unfair of her to ask him to bare his soul while she still held herself back. No, it had not been simple between the two of them. She was afraid it would never be. 

She fell asleep only to be woken by a light caress. Henry then proceeded to shower her with lingering kisses to her cheeks, feverish hands holding her jaw as if to devour her. “You know you mean the world to me, don’t you?” He breathed, his raw voice reaching her ears. 

“Hmm?” She lazily blinked, feeling a bit drowsy.

He pulled back, still holding her face in his hands. His eyes were earnest and eager, and they held a silent question to her. At that moment Henry could almost hold the semblance of a starved child. She put one hand to his cheek to caress it. She softly whispered his name before pulling him on top of her to kiss him. She experienced the all too familiar sensation of being consumed alive, the feeling of a warm flame running through her pliant body beneath his. They kissed deeply, her hands travelling across his back to rest on his hips before she felt bold enough to rub herself against him. 

His lips found her neck, the underside of her chin, her earlobe. 

Henry

She did not know whether she said his name out loud, but he moaned in return, trapping his hand between them where their bodies met. After all those years, he knew exactly what to do to make her fall apart completely. Once she was close enough to her climax she reached from under his shirt to pull him into joining her, kissing him fully on the mouth again. Hungry lips and teeth sucked on his lower lip. For some seconds she blissfully lost all control, all sense of self. 

Coming back to her senses she searched for her husband’s face. His expression was that of almost pain, but he kept going, silently cursing under his breath. When he reached his peak she held onto him tightly, as if she was suddenly afraid to let him go. I love you, I love you, I love you. Was it his thoughts, or was it hers? She decided it didn’t matter. Why couldn’t she say the words?

They spent a couple of breathless minutes intertwined, both quite not finding which words to say. Henry rolled off her and fell back on the pillows, still quite breathless and flushed. She waited for his breathing to even out before turning to him and placing a tender kiss to both of his eyelids. Lizzie played with the curls that graciously adorned his hair.

“My king, my Henry.” She murmured softly, before kissing his eyelids again. That time she felt a saltiness to them that was not there before. When she pulled back to press her cheek against his shoulder he took one of her hands and kissed her knuckles.

“I’d still choose you.” He said, absent-mindedly. 

She turned her head to look at him. “I beg your pardon?” She was not sure whether he was talking to her or to himself.

His face was all soft, his eyes clear and honest, of a rich blue glimmering in the dark. “I know we were arranged. But if I had to choose someone- anyone, I’d still choose you. I’d still choose you, Lizzie.”

She learned there were times the word love was not needed at all.


End file.
